


Waste All Your Chances (There's Always One More)

by Kitty_KatAllie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha ish Derek, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Beta Derek Hale, Expat Life in South Korea, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Other, POV Derek Hale, Sterek ReverseBang, some Stiles Stilinski POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-02
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-11-07 17:51:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11064087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_KatAllie/pseuds/Kitty_KatAllie
Summary: No one died. No one even got hurt. But six years ago, Derek Hale made a mistake and left behind the entire life and home he knew to begin again. He's not punishing himself, not really. An English degree and an advisor meeting at just the right time just happened to lead him to South Korea, where he settled and began to teach. Maybe he didn't look to the future or encourage lasting connections (if he could help it), but that didn't mean he was punishing himself.So when a chance encounter at a subway station in Gimhae brings him face-to-face with a stranger whose heartbeat he can't stop hearing, it's time to face just what life is offering him. And if he'll finally start looking to a future he couldn't admit he wanted.





	Waste All Your Chances (There's Always One More)

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first reversebang! And I actually got assigned an AMAZING artist, [aredblush](http://www.aredblush.tumblr.com)! There were so many great art entries, but this one caught my eye and immediately this plot started happening, so when I got assigned I was SOOOO happy. I didn't think I could pull it off, and I hope she likes it! <3 
> 
> A lot of this has been taken from my own personal experiences living and teaching abroad. A few of the stories about the kids are stories that actually happened, to me or to my friends.

For some Godforsaken reason, Derek had put his metro card in his _wallet._ So he hadn’t used it in around three weeks, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t irritated at having to dig it out _now_. He had been basically on top of the turnstile before realizing his metro card was stashed away, which just about summed up his luck. To make it even better, his phone started blaring its nondescript default tone from his hip pocket while he was tugging his wallet free from his _other_ pocket.

 _Who the hell **calls** anymore_? he wondered in a puzzled kind of annoyance. Everyone had Kakao. He’d actually let the sales associate download it onto his phone specifically because he’d never need to use the actual calling part of his phone again (and he could blame bad wifi service if he didn’t feel like answering).

In all honestly, he probably would’ve ignored it, if he hadn’t left the phone volume on high. Like a _moron_. He was fumbling with his wallet and scowling darkly as his phone just kept on blasting the most grating and annoying ringtone imaginable. The sound was so shrill that it echoed off the grey, marble-looking stone walls of the subway station, making Derek’s sensitive ears ring and his teeth grind to keep from wincing. Just behind him, at the wall of automatic ticket kiosks, a few locals looked over in annoyance, only to double-take at his appearance. Their hands froze over the touchscreens while electronic voices stated their ticket totals in stilted, robotic Korean.

His card swiped over the reader and the turnstile beeped to let him in at last. Finally, he managed to dig out his phone while shoving his wallet and card away. Frustrated and scowling down at caller ID, he didn’t glance around the station as he normally did to find a line-free gate. He just hit ‘answer’– a little more viciously than the poor mobile warranted– and sunk onto the nearest bench. There was a small start of movement at the corner of his eye, but Derek ignored it easily. Just another local gaping wasn’t worth the trouble.

“Really, Erica?” Derek growled down the line, scowling even darker as her infuriating laugh was the only response. “I sent you a text just five minutes ago.”

Erica huffed loudly– Derek could almost hear the eye roll– and said without a trace of contrition, “ _Your ‘text’ was o-n-w and that’s it. You are the absolute worst texter ever. Where are you? You better be on the subway, not just_ sauntering _out the door_.”

“I don’t _saunter_ ,” Derek grumbled. A muffled noise, that sounded a little like a snort, came from somewhere to his left. He half-turned, but Erica was talking again.

“ _You definitely saunter. You have to if you’re wearing the usual pants. There’s no other way of walking with your balls that strangled._ ”

Derek sighed roughly and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s just dinner and some drinks, Erica. What does it matter if I’m a little late? And my pants aren’t that tight. I wear them to work.”

“ _Okay, one, I’m starving! Don’t make me wait for your ass just to eat. And two, you better not be wearing the same clothes you wore at work. Who knows what those snotty little germbags got all over you!?_ ”

“My kids are not snotty little germbags, Erica.”

“ _All kids are snotty little germbags, Derek. And cute only 30 percent of the time. Now, answer the damn question and tell me where you are_ ,” Erica reiterated with a sharp kind of impatience in her voice that had Derek immediately surrendering, though he dragged out giving an answer because he _could_. Thank God she’d never met Laura. They were too alike already.

“I’m at the station. You have to wait for Isaac, too,” Derek pointed out. He definitely did not sound _whiney_. He didn’t _whine_.

Erica’s loudly unimpressed snort said otherwise. “ _I don’t need to ride Isaac’s ass. He knows better. See you by eight. Don’t you dare make me wait longer_.”

The phone call dropped and Derek sighed even louder. There was no way he’d make it _before_ 8 pm and Erica knew it. Unless he ran the moment he got off the subway… For a second time, the soft sound of stifled laughter came from not-quite behind or beside him and had Derek looking over. If some stranger who knew just enough English was listening in on his conversation, he’d–

Whatever he would’ve done slipped away entirely. The might-be-eavesdropper wasn’t some local sneaking pictures on their phone or staring at him like an exhibit. No, this man wasn’t even looking at him. An open book was dangling from one lax hand while the other slid over the slick surface of his phone. His cheeks were slightly flushed, and he was grinning so widely that his upturned nose and the corners of his bright brown eyes were crinkled. A beanie was pulled over what looked like messy brown hair and one long leg encased in yellow skinny jeans was curled up close to his chest, Converse-clad foot perched on the bench. He was wearing an ugly brown-and-green plaid with a bright green hoodie thrown over. The t-shirt underneath the plaid was plain white with huge black font stating ‘I’M SO FUCKING FUTURE’ over the entire torso. Derek couldn’t tell if he was impressed or exasperated by the obviously bad English creation. He’d definitely seen worse. The young man wearing it was a distraction unto himself, anyway; ridiculously beautiful, even when he sputtered and snorted a second later at something on his phone.

Derek couldn’t tear his eyes away and the longer he looked, the more there was to see. Like the smattering of freckles and moles across his cheeks and throat. Or the way he casually, thoughtlessly, gnawed on his hoodie’s drawstring and drew attention to the perfect shape of his mouth. Or the way he was somehow constantly in motion despite being so curled up and tucked into himself; the bouncing of his toes against the bench, the fidgeting of long fingers, the tiny bobs of his head as if along to music, though Derek couldn’t hear any and he couldn’t see any headphones. The all-too-familiar chime of a Kakao text came and the man was groaning under his breath, eyes rolling in exasperation at whatever he read.

And suddenly he was looking up, right into Derek’s eyes.

Taken aback, Derek froze, mouth tensing, willing himself not to blush at being caught staring. The stranger, however, squawked as his hands flew into the air and leg slipped off the bench. His body followed, half falling off before he caught himself.

“Holy shit, dude! What the hell?” the man exclaimed, voice pitchy and broken around gasps. Definitely American like Derek.

Derek _felt_ his mouth trying to open, but his jaw was clenched tight, so tight the muscle jumped and his hands were in fists at his side. With that movement, Derek had finally caught scent of the man. In the back of his mind, he wondered how it took so long; that was usually the first thing he noticed. But faint as it was, it still had Derek tongue-tied and barely keeping his eyes from flashing. _At a human stranger_. A stranger that smelled like cheap kimbap and kimchi and Sprite. There was a sharp, nose-wrinkling scent of chemicals (some kind of prescription drug?), and an overwhelming scent of black coffee and… ozone? Like the tang in the air before a storm.

The guy turned pale, then bright red, before he blurted, “Dude, what’s with the murder brows?”

“I- the wh-” The intercom interrupted, drowning out Derek’s muddled reply with a string of Korean followed by English announcing the approaching train and to step away from the doors.

The stranger backed away, throat working in a swallow. “Right, uh, hasta la vista, bro,” he muttered. He hurried– not ran, just long-legged strides that quickly ate up the distance– to the subway gate.

Derek had to shake his thoughts loose as he cleared his throat roughly. It was just some kid. For fuck’s sake, he barely looked twenty and Derek was already nearing the thirty mark. Derek should not get tongue-tied over a pretty face, or hands that had his throat drying, or legs that belonged around–

He cut himself off mid-thought, scowling and storming his way down the platform at least two cars away from where the kid was bouncing in place, his eyes darting in Derek’s direction. The sour scent of puzzled anxiety and… that _ozone_ that had somehow gotten even stronger had his hackles rising, and he shoved his fists in his jeans’ pockets. Even though they really were too tight for that. The train rolled to a stop with a screech and, just in his periphery, he saw the long-legged clumsy kid tumble his way onto his carriage the moment the doors, and the glass security gates that kept people from jumping or falling onto the tracks, slid open.  

He spent the entire ninety-and-change minute ride slouched in the corner between bench-railing and doors, wide-legged stance and none-too-little preternatural ability keeping him balanced, trying his best not to notice the stranger. But even two cars away, Derek couldn’t _not_ notice. Without turning his head in that direction, he could hear the steady, if a little fast, beat of the guy’s heart, and the weird eclectic mix of music now blasting in his earbuds, occasionally interspersed with more Kakao chimes and rapid button tapping. It was prime commute time between Gimhae and Busan, plus a Friday evening, so the subway was filling fast. There weren’t enough people to have him rubbing shoulders with anyone, fortunately, but there _were_ enough that the stranger should have been muffled completely by the cacophony of noises inside the train.

Everything else was muffled.

The stranger’s too-rapid heartbeat wasn’t.

* * *

 

By the time he found that night’s choice of bar– a Western one, most likely because he’d just gotten paid and his impromptu ‘clique’ would somehow wheedle him into covering most of the tab– Derek wasn’t feeling… right. That heartbeat was still pounding in his head, like the echo of bass drums long after a concert’s over. The bar was filled to the brim with loud shouts and bellows of laughter, a TV in the corner playing whatever soccer game was playing somewhere, and about five different languages were talking over each other (though it was mostly English of many different accents and level of skill). Squished into the corner of the bar, close to the large fridge filled with the usual Cass, Sapporo, and green-bottled Heinekens, were the three people he could actually consider friends. They caught sight of him easily over the crowd, the blonde, busty woman in the middle hollering a greeting with a smirk on her crimson-painted lips.

With an exasperated scoff and his head ducking at the curious looks his way, Derek made his way over to them. Erica leaned in close to pat his face like an elderly grandmother, discreetly swiping her palm up and down his whiskered cheek and cackling shamelessly when he slapped her hand away. Isaac, tall, blue-eyed, and deceptively angel-faced, slid over to the next barstool so Derek could sit in the middle. Boyd, standing out despite his reticent nature thanks to his buff and broad physique along with his striking Black complexion that drew stares too often from workers and locals alike, reached around to clasp Derek’s shoulder silently. With Isaac’s discreet hand smoothing down his arm the next moment, Derek could feel a small measure of his uneasiness fading.

Though he still denied they were ‘Pack’, having his scent on them, and theirs on him, soothed the ‘wolf in him.

Boyd slid a Cass across the bar; he must’ve bought the first round. None of them could get drunk normally, but most of them preferred at least _enjoying_ the taste of whatever alcohol they drank. Boyd cared more about the price. Derek took the first swallow with a grimace, hiding his surprise that Erica hadn’t already pounced.

“You at least _look_ acceptable. Somewhat,” the blonde Beta ‘wolf observed with a dismissive sneer and an unimpressed up-and-down look at the worn-in maroon henley and too tight jeans. _And there it was._ Derek merely raised an eyebrow and took another swig, trying not to make the wince at the taste too noticeable. “If you were gonna show up looking like you slept in those clothes, why are you late?”

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned. Isaac snorted softly and set his empty can down on the bar top. “You should’ve just answered your phone and come with me.”

“I’m not late,” Derek retorted. There was no way he was going to admit that he honestly _had_ slept in his clothes– that he’d gotten home and promptly passed out for a two hour nap. More like the ‘germbags’ he taught rather than a grown-ass adult.

“Yeah, you are. ‘Cuz I’ve drunk so much beer trying not to think about how much I’m _starving_ , that I’m about two seconds from pissing myself,” Erica retorted. Both Isaac and Derek pulled exasperated faces at the overshare, but Boyd hid his amused grin behind his beer. Erica slapped her hands to the bar and pushed back with her barstool screeching over the wood so loudly it had the three men flinching in outright pain. How she managed to do that without flinching and just grinning unrepentantly, Derek would never know. And _he_ was the born were’ here. “You’re buying me steak, Hale. Let’s go.”

“You’re not even gonna let him finish his drink?” Isaac asked, recovering quickly, amusement in his voice now. Derek shot him an irritated glower, but the asshole just smirked.

“Hell to the no! That shit’s piss water anyway. Sorry, Boyd, but it is,” she tossed over her shoulder at Boyd, brown eyes glinting. Boyd’s brows rose.

“Are you going to pay me back for it, then?” he asked simply. Erica pouted and threw back her head to sigh theatrically.

“F _ine_ ,” she replied with a drawn-out, long-suffering groan. “I’ll wait five more minutes. That’s _it_.”

The next fifteen or so minutes passed with each Beta updating Derek quickly on their week. Isaac worked with Derek in the same kindergarten in Gimhae, and he’d caught the other two up while waiting, so Erica effortlessly took up the conversation first. She filled them in on a few of her funnier stories from the all-girls’ middle school where she worked. When she’d first started working there two years before, the girls had been terrified of her. Now it was fifty-fifty between terror and utter adoration. Both instances had their share of hilarious anecdotes. The latest instance was of Erica disciplining a girl for doodling in class, only to find out much later it had been a sweet picture of Erica and the words “I love Erica Teacher” scrawled all over the page. All four of them were laughing while Isaac threw in a few barbs to poke at the bit of shame and guilt Erica couldn’t quite hide.

Boyd was the only non-teacher in the group. He’d come to Pusan National University from Chicago as a graduate student to work on his Master in Urban Engineering, and had only managed to get there on a scholarship. Derek might never have met him– since neither tended to get out much or make friends easily– if a local pack hadn’t contacted Derek to tell him of a student that had been bitten by a rogue Alpha. After Erica trailed off and the attention turned to the taciturn ‘wolf, he gave them a short, simple update: another thesis review with his advisor, and a new hiccup in the project he was working on, though he didn’t give details. Then, Boyd shrugged, effectively ending his input. Of the few friends he made in Korea, Boyd was by far the easiest to spend time with (though not always the easiest to understand). Derek’s mouth twitched behind his beer at Erica’s dissatisfied noise and the gleam of amusement in Boyd’s eyes.

Despite the deliberate baiting that was per the norm, Derek put down his empty can to end Erica’s tirade before she got _too_ into it. She liked any excuse to wheedle more details out of Boyd, and Boyd always let it wash over him with an affable expression on his face while Isaac snickered at both their expense. Sometimes Derek let it happen, but he was still too edgy from the man at the subway station and a steak was starting to sound more and more appealing. They pushed their way out of the bar with Erica draped over Isaac’s back as she ruffled his dirty-blond curls affectionately. He was about a foot taller than her, which had him bent almost in half under her teasing.

“Why in the hell are you wearing a scarf, Isaac? It’s not even October!”

“It’s not _that_ far away. Why are you wearing shorts you must’ve stolen from one of your students?” he shot back. Erica just barked a laugh.

The door slapped shut behind them and just down the hall a small group of locals and expats fell through a door into yet another bar, though one of those fried chicken and maekju Korean places rather than a Western one.

Among them was… the heartbeat. Derek couldn’t help the jerk he made towards the already closing door. Too like a ‘wolf, his nostrils flaring and gaze sharp, but the odor of, well, _everything else_ plus a whole lot of beer, masked even that sharp ozone scent from here.

If it had been…

There was no way– Sure, this was the Haeundae area, but the kid had gotten off several stops before Derek.

Not that he’d kept his eye on him the whole way.

Really.

“-rek. DEREK! Yo, alpha,” Erica shouted, pinching Derek’s ear between her manicured fingernails and tugging. Too much like his mother.

“Erica!” Derek snapped, slapping her hand away and glaring.  “What do you want– and I’m _not_ an alpha,” he added roughly.

Unimpressed, she stared questioningly at him with a heeled-boot tapping on the tiled floor. “Where the hell did you go? You looked like you saw a ghost,” Erica told him, arms crossing under her breasts.

It was then he noticed Isaac and Boyd waiting at the elevator. Their faces said ‘silently-judging-you’, but Erica had never been the silently judging kind of person, obviously.

“Or like you’d smelled a squirrel,” Isaac taunted.

Boyd rolled his eyes. “Really, man? Still with the dog jokes?”

“When he just sets them up for me–”

“You didn’t really see a ghost, though, right? I mean… they aren’t a thing, right?” Erica asked suddenly, worry darkening her light brown eyes. She often joked that because she’d gotten bitten so late in her teens, and therefore found out about the supernatural so late, she was raised ‘like a Muggle’. Moments like this always reminded Derek of it.

Derek’s shoulders tensed before he shook his head briskly– _not like a dog_ – and corralled Erica towards the elevator, a hand on her lower back. The pressure of his hand had the tension in her shoulders easing even as she frowned up at him. “Yes, there are, but not in well-lit hallways filled with this many people at once. It was nothing.”

“It was _not_ nothing,” Erica argued.

“Yeah, you definitely checked out on us,” Isaac concurred.

“I’m going to have to agree,” Boyd said as he held open the doors for everyone to walk through.

Derek scowled heavily. “I just thought… I saw someone.”

“You don’t _know_ anyone other than us,” Erica blurted, paused, and then shrugged shamelessly. It was pretty much true.

“It wasn’t one of our kids, was it? I do _not_ want to see my kids right now,” Isaac said fervently. Everyone stared at him.

“We’re in a building filled with bars,” Boyd deadpanned. Isaac scowled, though compared to Derek, it looked like a pout.

“There are Indian restaurants on this floor, too. _Family_ places.”

“Not important,” Erica interrupted, leaning into Derek’s space and smiling wickedly, eyes gleaming. He hoped it was just the overhead lights that made her eyes gleam Beta gold. “ _Who_?”

“It probably wasn’t even him,” Derek sighed. And then grimaced hard realizing what he’d said.

The wicked gleam in Erica’s eyes turned into an outright _glint_ and even Boyd and Isaac looked interested now. “ _Him_?” she prompted eagerly. The elevator doors dinged open and Derek did _not_ run away from his Beta _._

Wait, no, not _his_ Beta. Because they weren’t a Pack.

“Nobody.”

“Don’t sulk, you big baby, and tell us!” Erica demanded. When Derek gazed back at the other two, they just grinned and raised their hands in surrender.

“Just some kid. Probably an undergrad. Made an idiot of himself,” not technically a lie, since he _had_ looked a little ridiculous after _Derek_ had made an idiot of himself, so the three didn’t catch it, “that’s all.”

“Yeah, but _when_? _Where_? Was he cute?”

“I wouldn’t use _cute_ ,” Derek grumbled, hands shoved deeper in his pockets. No, that man had not been cute. His students, who were all five or younger, _they_ were cute. Fluffy animals that usually had _prey_ tacked on at the end of their descriptions, _they_ were cute. “It was just on the subway. He’ll probably be gone by Christmas. You know how it goes.”

“Yeah, we get it. People show up for a month or two, maybe six, and then disappear. But,” Erica poked Derek’s bicep hard enough that he frowned at her and rubbed the spot. Not sulkily. “But then there’s the oldies like you, Grumpy. Who’ve been here five years and counting.”

“Does that mean you actually thought about this guy enough to care how long he’s staying?” Boyd noted out loud, actually sounding _intrigued_. Boyd didn’t care about gossip or hook ups. Yet here he was, _caring_ and throwing the spotlight on Derek.

Both Isaac and Erica gaped in shock as Derek shot a look of betrayal in Boyd’s direction.

“Who _was_ this guy?” Isaac asked with too-wide eyes.

“Nobody. Now shut up or you’re all buying your own dinners.”

“You would _never_ ,” Erica gasped.

Thankfully, the rest of the night was bickering over the check and complaining about their jobs and/or schoolwork. By the end of the night, the strange pounding in the back of his head was long gone.

But the memory of the scent of ozone still lingered past too many bottles of soju.

* * *

 

“So, then I was like, oh, that’s your Korean name? It’s almost exactly like Olivia’s! I have no idea how to read it aloud, but the Hangeul was all the same until the last little block, you know? And they both just give me this _look_ , and my co-teacher goes, Miss Erica, they’re sisters. They’re _twins_ ,” Erica exclaimed with the most baffled and outraged look on her face. Isaac doubled over the table, laughing until he was red in the face, and even Boyd’s mouth was twitching. Of course, they’d all been drinking enough wolfsbane-laced soju– the wolfsbane concoction courtesy of Derek’s uncle emailing him a recipe and Isaac’s puppy-eyed-begging until Derek forwarded it on to all of them– so even Derek was snorting and rolling his eyes at the relatively tame story (from Erica). She barked out a laugh, shaking her head. “This whole friggin’ time! They were both in my summer camp, so I taught them for the past six _months_ -”

“Three,” Boyd corrected mildly.

“–and I didn’t even notice they were twins! They look _nothing_ alike. What even is this shit?” Erica finished, ignoring Boyd with a flip of riotous blonde hair over her shoulder.

“Whoever says ‘all Asians look exactly the same’ obviously needs to teach in Asia,” Isaac replied, wiping at an eye with the heel of his palm and voice still a little wheezy.

“Or just not be racist assholes,” Derek added with a wry twist to his mouth. Erica and Isaac laughed again and Boyd raised his bright green bottle in Derek’s direction.

“Speaking of racist, if I get one more well-meaning email from my dad’s family about whether or not I’m in North or South Korea, and _am I okay_ , I’m gonna throw my laptop at the damn wall,” Erica joked with a heavy eyeroll.

“It’ll go _through_ the wall, so you probably shouldn’t,” Derek pointed out.

“At least they don’t still ask if Korea has any real toilets or if they eat dogs,” Boyd said with a grimace while Erica punched Derek’s shoulder. He grunted and jolted to the side. He had no idea if Erica knew her own strength or if she just enjoyed messing with him. Probably the latter.

“Tell me about it. I finally posted up pictures of my trip to Seoul, and some asshole from high school made a crack about how _modern_ everything looked,” Isaac grumbled. He tossed back the last of his drink and got to his feet. “I’m gonna get another. Everybody want another round?”

Derek eyed the soju, then shrugged in agreement. Boyd had already offered his couch so Derek wouldn’t have to dole out over sixty thousand won for a taxi ride back. Erica banged her own bottle onto the tabletop.

“Another!”

If only Erica’s students could see her now, quoting Marvel movies and listing against Boyd’s shoulder. Not too intimidating when she was one more bottle from three-sheets-to-the-wind. Boyd shook his head and gestured to the water bottle he’d brought.

While Erica teased Boyd for being a lightweight, Derek finished off his drink and looked around. Another weekend in Busan, another night in a bar. Though, honestly, it was better than Erica’s first idea. Noraebang might be the _It Thing_ for Koreans and expats alike, but Derek would never like karaoke. Instead of the western scene they normally tended to meet up in, Boyd had suggested a cheap maekju bar one of his classmates had brought him to. Isaac was sold on the cheap food they could get, and Erica was sold on the cheap beer.

Fridges were placed along the walls, the alcohol inside all grouped together by prices with the amount on big, bold signs taped to the front of each door. The most expensive choices were closer to the register, but most people were grabbing from the far fridges. There was a dartboard and a pool table squished into one corner area, and the rest of the dark, crunchy-floored bar was filled with tables and stools, and a few of the bigger tables had benches. All the wooden furniture was worn at the edges, the boards were warped and uneven in the tables, and almost every seat was unbalanced. The majority of the place was filled with Korean locals, likely college students and younger than Derek’s 28 years. He was probably the only one there with a beard, not that he wasn’t used to that. Every now and then, a new wave of kids came through the door, ridiculously double-taking at the sight of Derek and Boyd and Erica chatting at their table before moving on. Five years, going on six, and Derek still wasn’t used to the staring. Being in public with his three friends, who stood out in a crowd even more than he did, didn’t exactly help with the problem.

He scowled when one guy stared at Erica too long, barely suppressing a smirk when he caught sight of Derek and _scurried_ away, and then pulled the bowl of weird… chip-things… towards himself. They looked like tube-shaped styrofoam packing peanuts in shades of yellow, pink, and green, and Derek _still_ had no idea what they were, but he could eat them for hours anyway.

Isaac came back with three unopened bottles of soju in one hand and a bowl of about five different kinds of fries in the other. He looked a bit shellshocked, eyes a little too wide and mouth pulled up into a lopsided little smirk that looked more like a smile.

“Oh, _nice_ , potatoes,” Erica said gleefully, pouncing on the bowl the moment Isaac set it down. She picked out every single waffle fry in the bowl and pretty much shoved them into her mouth all at once.

“You’re _welcome_ ,” Isaac retorted with a longsuffering sigh as he folded his too-tall legs under the table and his shoulders automatically hunched forward. Erica blew him a kiss and winked.

“Why do you look like that?” Derek asked with a frown as Isaac handed over the bottles.

“Like what?” he asked evasively. Derek frowned even harder, the cap of his bottle twisting off too hard.

“Like you’ve just seen Boyd eat chicken feet again,” Erica said with a grin. Boyd sighed.

“They’re not that bad.”

“I do _not_ look like that!”

“It still looks pretty gross, Boyd. And Isaac, you _definitely_ look like that. Does our fearless leader need to pretend to throw his weight around?”

“I don’t- I’m not–” Derek sputtered, not knowing which part to argue first.

“Just… Someone just offered to buy my drink for me, that’s all,” Isaac muttered, shrugging a shoulder awkwardly. Isaac had grown into his gangly frame pretty well, but there were moments like this where Derek could remember him as a teenager, all limbs and bony angles, dragged into his house by a Cora on the warpath to do an aggressively good deed. The more he tried to play something down, the more awkward he got. And the more important it probably was.

Erica’s eyes twinkled mischievously, already darting up towards the register, just to see it deserted at the moment. “Oh really? Who?”

“No one, just some guy,” Isaac replied nonchalantly. But all of them caught the quick glance towards the opposite side of the room, close to the pool table. He groaned and hid his face in his hand as the entire group looked over, Erica actually _twisting_ in her chair to see. At her low whistle, Isaac groaned louder.

The table was one of the only other tables full of foreigners. There was one local-looking woman, a sweetly-smiling and pretty girl with wavy black hair and some kind of anime logo splashed across the front. The rest consisted of a beautiful redheaded woman with the sort of clothes and elegantly done up hair that belonged on a runway, not in a cheap, too-dark maekju bar, a tall brunette man with broad-looking shoulders under a vaguely familiar green hoodie whose hands were reaching for a fancy-looking beer bottle near the redhead, and a tanned, broad-shouldered, very fit man with dark eyes and darker hair who was looking over in their direction. He caught sight of Erica’s blatant staring and grinned winningly, lifting his glass in a mock toast.

“Some guy? He deserves _so much_ more credit than that. Look at those dimples,” Erica crowed, smirk downright devilish and fingers waggling in a wave back.

“What the hell are you doing!?” Isaac hissed at her.

Derek would’ve made some sort of comment about them acting like they were in middle school, instead of _teaching_ middle schoolers (or kindergartners), but then the hoodie guy turned and Derek was floored. There was no mistaking the curve of that nose, or the slope of that cheek. He was leaning over the table, ignoring the dimple-man’s laughing protest, to stare at the maybe-Korean woman’s phone. And Derek was definitely _not_ staring at his ass lifted high in the air clad in tight khaki pants that should’ve looked stupid. Who wore ill-fitting khakis to a bar? Who _half-crawled over_ _a table_ just to shout into someone else’s phone while his beautiful, redheaded friend shoved at his face and held a very expensive bottle of beer out of his way.

“You’re making the people at the next table really uncomfortable, Alpha. Tone down the glare,” Erica’s voice interrupted. Derek jerked back, blinking wildly and glancing around to see the Betas all smirking at him.

“Not an Alpha,” Derek grumbled uselessly.

“His dimples aren’t that nice,” Boyd said dryly. Derek’s brows crashed down as he scowled and the other two laughed. Isaac broke off and rubbed the back of his neck.

“You could– uh… if you’re interested, I didn’t actually get his name, so–”

“What? Isaac, no,” Derek said brusquely. At Isaac’s slightly too wide eyes and perplexed expression, Derek sighed and added, “I saw someone I thought I recognized.” Isaac’s stiff shoulders slumped, eyes darting back towards Dimple’s table and to his drink swiftly. Derek could almost taste the smell of relief rolling off of Isaac.

“And then kept on staring like you wanted to eat them?” Erica asked incredulously. “Maybe it’s too close to the full moon. I swear your eyes went wolfy for a second.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Derek snapped, though he barely kept from shifting uncomfortably because he wasn’t exactly sure how much she was exaggerating. He suddenly felt too big inside his own skin, senses straining to _hear_ or _smell_ him again, but there was too much in the way. Beer and soju and cheap vodka, badly cooked bar food, the lingering smell of cigarettes, and just too many people. “I’m getting a drink,” he muttered, getting up with a screech of his stool over the alcohol-stained floor.

He shoved his fists in his jacket pockets. Behind him, the three Betas stared at his still untouched soju.

Derek wended his way through tables and stools, not even noticing the few people that caught sight of his scowling features and knocked over bottles when they leaned away too quickly. He was too busy trying to listen, catch just a few words, a name even. He thought that he’d never see that kid again. So many people came and went, and Busan was huge. There was no reason to believe he’d ever see him again. Barely two weeks later and there he was. In the middle of Haeundae. In a shitty, dime-a-dozen maekju bar. Of course, he looked like he was barely eighteen. Taking advantage of the lax alcohol laws tended to be American exchange students’ forte.

“-get your ass in your chair!” the redhead was snapping, her words sounding exasperated and fond at once.

“C’mon, that’s _my_ friend you’re talking to, Kira!” the kid was whining even as he laughed.

“And _my_ girlfriend now. You’ve only yourself to blame, Stiles,” the Korean girl, Kira– who actually had a very American-sounding accent, so maybe she was an expat, too– told him ruthlessly, still smiling angelically. There was no other word for it; that was an _angelic_ smile. She could give Isaac a run for his money. Twice.

What the fuck was a Stiles, though?

“ _Maybe if you called me yourself every now and then, you could talk to me, too,_ ” retorted a very no-nonsense voice from the phone in the girl’s hand.

“She got you, Stilinski. Now get your bony ass outta the way. The cute guy from the bar and his friends were looking over here and you’re making an idiot out of yourself,” Dimples said. Derek made a note to tell Isaac, then tried not to beat his head against the fridge at the thought. He was _not_ going to play wingman. No way. He was no one’s wingman, especially for some guy that called hoodie’s butt _bony_. Did Dimples even have eyes? … he was probably still going to tell Isaac…

Stilinski. Stiles. Was… was hoodie’s name _Stiles Stilinski_? Who the hell names their kid _Stiles Stilinski_?!

He wrenched open the door and grabbed the first beer he saw. Then, stared at the Hite in his hands. He hated this brand.

“Danny, just go over there and work your magic. You know you’re gonna get him in your apartment tonight,” Stiles grumbled, flopping onto his seat and crossing his arms. Kira was still giggling into her phone. For a minute, Derek took back telling Isaac. Fuck Dimples Danny if he was just some playboy.

“No… I don’t think I will. Not tonight,” Danny said thoughtfully.

“Aw, do you _like_ this one?” the redhead taunted as she drank her fancy beer out of a tall glass. Derek hadn’t even known this bar had those kinds of glasses.

“Maybe. Now, shut your mouth, Lydia, his scary hot friend is over there. I’d rather not have him overhear,” Danny pointed out. Derek’s shoulders tensed as he shoved the door closed and retreated towards the register.

“Dude, _dat ass,_ though. Who cares about Curly- Wait… do I know that guy?” Stiles’ voice trailed off.

Derek definitely wasn’t blushing when he made it back to his table. The judgey faces his Betas– no, not _his_ Betas, _just_ Betas– made when he sat and popped open the aluminum can notwithstanding.

* * *

 

Kira’s apartment wasn’t much bigger than Stiles’, and she had to share with another graduate student, like he did. But it smelled nicer and she was just… _tidier_ than he was. He hated too much mess, because it tended to distract him even after his daily Adderall dosage. But, well, whenever he was in the midst of a research spiral, Stiles usually ended up with a room cluttered in papers and books and too many empty energy drink bottles. Sometimes the mess migrated into the shared living room, and then his flatmate got _ridiculously_ upset, so avoiding it altogether at Kira’s place was Stiles’ customary routine.

Stiles groaned as his controller dropped to the ground, and threw his arm over his face, knuckles smacking hard against the floor. From her cross-legged perch on the bed next to him, Kira cackled and whooped as her avatar was cheered in the game. Stiles squinted up at her chin from under his arm.

“You totally knew you’d kick my ass at this when you suggested it, didn’t you?” Stiles accused suspiciously. Kira smiled down at him sunnily.

“Of course.”

Stiles groaned again before laughing. “Whenever anyone calls you _innocent_ , I’m gonna remember this moment. You’re evil. Either that or you’ve been spending way too much time with Mal.”

Kira snickered unrepentantly. “She’s a great influence on me.”

“I think you’re a better influence on her than she is on you,” Lydia argued from where she was perched at Kira’s desk.

She eyed her freshly-painted toenails critically before propping them back on Stiles’ stomach– making him grunt and laugh– and sipping at her wine. While she might deign to drink beer in a cheap bar with them some times, she almost always brought her own wine to their get-togethers. Since Kira and Stiles only ever bought wine in bulk during their monthly Costco run, he couldn’t exactly blame Lydia for doing so. Plus, he and Kira got the good stuff for free whenever she did.

The blood in his head was finally making him dizzy, so with a grunt Stiles pulled himself up. Lydia pursed her lips at him irritably when she had to quickly move her toes away as he flailed and flopped around until he got upright against the wall and stretched out his long legs. Lydia immediately put her feet back on his lap. Kira set the controller down and curled up against her headboard, pillow crushed in her arms and phone in hand, though she wasn’t looking at it. It was nearing the usual time Malia called– another reason why Stiles preferred Kira’s apartment. It was easier to share phone calls with mutual friends if they were together, and when it came to choosing between Stiles and Kira, Malia had more than once hung up on Stiles to answer a call from Kira.

The traitor. They were friends _first_.

“I don’t know. I don’t like the idea that I’m changing Malia, or somehow making her ‘better’,” Kira argued, nose wrinkling in discomfort and fingers actually air-quoting. “I like her just the way she is.”

“Half-feral and punch-first personality included?” Lydia asked dryly, one eyebrow rising. Stiles laughed and got a face full of pillow for it.

“Hey, what?! _She_ said it!” Stiles exclaimed, gesturing forcefully at Lydia.

“Yeah, but she brings wine. She’s also terrifying,” Kira joked. Lydia raised her glass and took a sip.

Stiles scoffed in mock-offense. “I can be terrifying. Super terrifying. _You_ would know, your mother trains me!”

Kira tapped her lips thoughtfully. “Nope, Lydia is still more terrifying. Please pass me the wine.” She wiggled her fingers beseechingly and Stiles grumbled. Seeing the bottle just barely out of reach, he waved a hand. With a silent pop, the bottle disappeared and reappeared in Kira’s lap. Only her more-than-human reflexes kept it from spilling. “Really, Stiles? What did Mother say about that?”

“If you spill my eighty-dollar wine, I’ll edit your thesis again,” Lydia warned, eyes narrowing.

Stiles shuddered, remembering the last time he’d actually _asked_ her to do that. Never again. _Never never_ again. He never thought paper could look like it was bleeding until she’d finished shredding his poor thesis to pieces with her pen. And he was a scholarship student; he’d literally gotten into his _top-ranking_ university graduate program on smarts.

The phone rang with the expected phone call just then. Kira almost dropped it in surprise, fumbling it wildly and letting out a barely restrained ‘ _eek_ ’. One of the best parts of having Kira as a friend and quasi-training-buddy was the fact he was no longer the most clumsy and awkward in a room. He snickered at the dorky cute that was Kira Yukimura, abruptly grunting at Lydia’s heel bouncing a little too hard on his thigh. He looked over at her as Kira gushed excitedly and soppily into the phone (it really was no wonder why she and Scott dated for a year; they were both ridiculous).

“What _did_ Noshiko say about that? And hand the wine back _with_ your hands this time, Stilinski,” Lydia ordered loftily. Stiles groaned and rolled his eyes while leaning over for the bottle. Kira shoved it into his hand helpfully.

“She told me not to waste it on trivial matters. I’m not at a level where snapping my fingers won’t accidentally wreak consequences I’m not expecting,” Stiles admitted with a soft sigh. Lydia took the bottle and set it safely on the table next to her.

“Butterfly effect consequences?” Lydia asked, eyebrow arching with intrigue.

“Maybe not _that_ bad. Please don’t compare my life to a Kutcher movie,” Stiles replied with a twist of his mouth that had Lydia smirking.

“Mother says he’s doing really well, though,” Kira interrupted, finally putting her phone on speaker and holding it in their direction.  

“ _She’s probably only saying that because she doesn’t want to admit she’s wasting her time_ ,” Malia’s drawling, slightly too-hoarse voice retorted from the phone.

“Et tu, Mal?” Stiles gasped, hand over his heart and almost spilling wine over the bedspread.

“ _What does that mean? Is that a Star Wars reference again?_ ”

“No!” Kira and Stiles exclaimed together, sharing a look of commiseration. No one enjoyed their geeky references as much as they did.

“Why couldn’t you date _me_ instead of all my friends?” Stiles asked her, overdramatically woeful. Kira burst out laughing.

“That’s sweet, Stiles, but it would be like dating a more sarcastic asshole version of myself,” Kira pointed out.

“ _Mal_ is an asshole!” Stiles protested even as he laughed.

“ _I heard that. Expect an unpleasant surprise in your bed the next time you come to visit. Of the dead animal variety._ ”

“It’s not like it’s a _lie_.”

Lydia cleared her throat, eyes rolling heavenward. “Back to the subject. Noshiko doesn’t seem like a bullshitter to me. If she says you’re doing well, I believe her. I wish you’d let me come to one of your sessions to see for myself, though.” Her green eyes gleamed at the thought. Stiles scoffed and shook his head even as Kira frowned thoughtfully.

“I’m sure Mother would allow it… eventually,” Kira said doubtfully.

“No, dude, she really won’t. It took me two years of undergrad just to get her to talk to me. And it took you and me both another two years to beg her to train me. She’s not an open arms sorta person with this stuff,” Stiles reminded them dryly. Kira conceded with a nod.

Lydia frowned slightly, but sipped at her wine without a word.

“Malia was saying something about a Pack last time. Lia? How’s that going?” Kira asked brightly. The sound of Malia’s annoyed growl had Stiles grinning.

“ _You know I’m trying to get that job as a ranger in the Preserve_?”  Malia started shortly. She wasn’t one to repeat herself if she didn’t have to. Stiles and Lydia made small hums of agreement, and Malia forged on, _“Yeah, Satomi’s territory doesn’t cover all that land. The Hales cover the ranger station side_.”

“Oh, shit,” Stiles said with a little wince. Lydia’s mouth pursed pensively.

 _“I wanna be an actual ranger in the Preserve. So, I’ve been… well, kissing their asses, basically,_ ” Malia told them, grumbling and irritable. Stiles was almost positive her eyes were flashing blue on the other side of the line. “ _The Hales aren’t even that bad… just the Alpha’s brother, really. Everyone else is great. But I hate that guy._ _He just acts like he knows more than you. About everything. I’ve never wanted to punch a smug face that badly. And we know Jackson_.”

Stiles burst out laughing at that, wine burning his throat and nose as he choked and coughed through guffaws.

“It’s not that funny. Jackson’s not that bad these days,” Lydia told him. Stiles just shook his head and dragged in more air.

“At least the Alpha is great, right? You said she was really impressive the first time you met her,” Kira said. There was a reluctant sigh on the other end.

“ _Yeah, her and her daughter, the next Alpha. Oh, hey, she actually said some of their pack was out there in Korea, too. A couple Betas_ ,” Malia remembered, sounding incredulous.

It had nothing on their faces, though, as the three friend glanced at each other in shock. Betas. From a Pack. All the way in _South Korea_ while their Alpha was in _California_? Lydia and Stiles were basically extra spicy humans, so the packbond wasn’t too strong for them. A part of them had never fully accepted themselves into Ito’s Pack because Scott hadn’t truly done so. Kira was a kitsune, but wasn’t actually _Pack_. Kitsune normally weren’t Pack supernaturals, anyway. It was easy enough for them to take a year or two and study abroad. But ‘ _wolves_ putting that much distance between them and their Pack, a Pack made up of _family_? Scott wasn’t handling it very well, constantly going back to Beacon Hills just to be grounded by Satomi and her Pack, or just being around his mother. Not to mention his near-daily phone calls to all of them. Satomi often said strange cryptic things about how they were their own Pack, which was weird, none of them were Alphas, but Scott still needed what ties he had to the Ito Pack to keep from losing himself. Staying longer than two years wasn’t in the cards, even for Lydia. Just spicy humans they might be, there was still a packbond.

“ _Yeah,_ ” Malia agreed after the silence drew on a beat too long. “ _Apparently the brother? He’s been there for almost six years._ ”

“ _What_?” all three of them blurted.

“ _His sister’s been worried about him for years. She’s not Alpha yet, but she acts like it. There’s visiting back ‘n forth, I guess? But when she heard you guys will be there another six months, maybe a whole ‘nother year… she kinda asked if you guys would make nice with him and the other guy_ ,” Malia explained.

“What are we supposed to do? Go up to every expat were’ in the Busan area and ask, hey, you baby-Alpha’s long lost bro? Let’s play together?” Stiles asked dubiously.

Malia snorted loudly.  “ _Fine, fine. I’ll say I asked, though. They’ll probably like me more for it._ ”

“That’s a little…” Kira broke off awkwardly with a wince.

“Cunning. Good job, Mal,” Lydia cut in.

“ _Thanks?_ ”

Stiles set his empty glass on the table and gently moved Lydia’s feet off him. “It’s about time for me to go. This was great, but I do have actual work to do. Not just the fun flashy kind. I can’t lose my real scholarship already,” Stiles groaned, stumbling off the bed and stretching his arms up high. He cracked his neck both ways and Kira muttered a quiet ‘ _so gross_ ’ that sounded more awed than disgusted.

“So, _The Notebook_?” Lydia suggested to Kira. The brunette wrinkled her nose as Malia let out an actual disgusted noise and hung up.

“Maybe. I really wanted to see _La-La Land_ , though. I missed it.”

“You _still_ haven’t seen it?”

“And this is my cue,” Stiles announced loudly, going for the pile of shoes at the door.

“You were already leaving, you drama queen! You know you like Gosling,” Lydia called over to him.

“Everyone loves Gosling!”

“Don’t worry, we’ll watch it again for you!” Kira reassured him.

Stiles left, grinning. He couldn’t help but wonder, though, why a Beta would leave his pack for six years. For a brief moment, he could see the ‘wolf from the subway in his mind, and he wondered if it was the same guy at the bar weeks later. A Beta whose Alpha ties were worn thin, but whose mind still remained whole. Was Hale like that scowly guy by now? How did either of them manage to be so stable without Pack? Stiles almost wanted to get more information from Malia to track Hale down and just _ask_. Or maybe just screw up the courage to ask the subway-wolf. But, well… he had three different papers to finish and an ancient history on Korean dragons to study- _thanks Noshiko_. (Who was he kidding, the dragons thing was going be a whole lot more fun than a paper on American vs Korean gun control.)

Werewolves and Betas and Alphas weren’t his problem this year. Not even when they had a body that could put Michelangelo’s David to shame, with a face to match.

* * *

 

While being a kindergarten teacher for the past five years had gotten him accustomed to early mornings, Derek wasn’t accustomed to early mornings _after_ not sleeping more than a few hours just before dawn. Especially right after a long trip to Jeju during Chuseok. While Erica had managed to persuade Boyd and Isaac to join her in Japan during the almost weeklong break, Derek wasn’t actually much of a traveler. Busan was interesting, and Gimhae was small and easy to live in, but he missed the _woods;_ he liked going down to Jeju and following the hiking trails around the island to refresh himself _._ He missed the Preserve, running through the trees with his family, hearing the beat of their shifted paws on the ground and the howls that filled the air with _pack_. Jeju might not be exactly the same, with the strange smelling flora and the only big animals were the limited number of domesticated horses and cows– they were smaller than the average livestock back home, too. But the trails were still emptier than a city, and the smell of the ocean and wild grass and fresh air always had him feeling more secure in his own body. The ‘wolf was sated enough that it no longer clawed at him on the inside thanks to the runs he took late at night in his wolfskin when no one could have possibly caught him. The utter lack of settled ‘wolf Packs on the tiny southern island helped, too. No territory he could trespass on accidentally during his runs.

It left him exhausted and stumbling onto the first train of the morning, but he couldn’t regret the choice. He had a whole day of sleeping it off before his Pa- his _friends_ got back in and crashed at his apartment. Since the subway was completely empty, Derek slouched low, legs spread wide and his hiking pack laid out on the bench beside him. To keep himself awake during the moderately long ride, he turned on his cell phone and thumbed through the notifications on his KakaoStory. Picture after picture of the Betas in Japan, eating weird food just so Isaac could snap pictures of the most embarrassing moments, going into shops with wild fashions to try on and pose ridiculously– Boyd mostly crossed his arms and stared, but the beribboned, tiny, top hat and lacy parasol didn’t really need a ridiculous pose–, and crowding in close for sincere selfies with #wishuwereheregrumpycat and tagged with his name at some landmark or another.

Maybe next time he would go. It’d been awhile since he went somewhere new. Normally, if Derek wasn’t headed down to Jeju for the trails, he went back home for a short visit, or Laura would come out and force him to take her to Seoul or Daegu or Gwangju, somewhere ‘fun’. Maybe the four of them could go to Southeast Asia. Erica might look like she hated to sweat, but she was a fierce boulder-er and rock climber. Isaac would go because he just liked seeing new things. Boyd would probably be the hard sell, not even the ‘wolf could cure him of being a city boy.

Derek snorted softly at the thought. He never thought coming to Korea would do so much good. It was an easy escape, his English degree a ready-made excuse to get _away_. From his selfish, stupid mistakes. From the guilt he still hadn’t completely outrun. Instead he’d found friends. A true community as strong as the one he’d let down and left behind.

As he tapped a reply to a tagged photo with one of the ridiculous white duck stickers that Kakao provided for emojis, Derek couldn’t help but think, not for the first time, that he’d found a second chance he didn’t deserve.

The rote Korean announcement, with a familiar phrase stuck in the middle, announced his stop. Derek couldn’t speak Korean, not really, but five years and a natural affinity for languages meant he could understand a whole lot more than he let on. He was standing at the door, bag hanging off a shoulder, before the announcement could repeat itself in English. The subway jerked unsteadily to a stop– _new driver_? he thought with a disdainful glance towards the front– and, tired as he was, Derek actually wobbled in place. He stumbled slightly when disembarking, frowning in annoyance.

As he made his way down the steps and turned the corner towards the turnstiles, the sound of rapid footsteps caught his ears. Derek lifted his head, just about to move out of the way, when…

_Ozone._

The smell of soju and– he recoiled slightly with a grimace– McDonald’s day-old grease and fried potatoes almost covered it. But it was _him_.

The kid with the heartbeat.

Before he could properly admonish himself for stupidest thing he’d ever thought– with a heartbeat? Really? Why did his inner monologue sound like a terrifying amalgamation of Laura and Erica?– the footsteps skidded around the corner.

Straight into Derek’s chest.

Automatically, Derek caught the arms flailing wildly for balance as the kid in a familiar green hoodie squawked in shock and failed to keep himself upright. The scent of thunder and rain grew heavy and sharp at once. It was then he noticed the hoodie’s sleeves were pushed high above his elbows, because the bared skin behind Derek’s hands grew warm. Unnaturally so for a human.

Derek looked down and couldn’t help the stare as his mouth went dry.

Tattoos, shaded and stark and bold and colorful, covered the pale skin under his hands. Strange twisting symbols twined around the guy’s forearms and up into his sleeves. They should’ve looked intimidating, or even disturbing, but they reminded Derek of the forest. Of trees and piercing eyes in the dark. Derek stared long enough that some of the symbols started to look like _language_ , like pre-English runes carved into stone. Also a little bit like his Uncle Peter’s weird books or the labels on Deaton’s bottles and jars whenever he brought them to the Hale home.

Then, the kid jerked away. Derek let him go instead of holding on like he could’ve. Let his awkwardly empty hands fall to his sides as the kid tugged down his sleeves and muttered to himself.

“It’s too early, and I’m too hungover, for this. Look, dude, thanks for the catch, but you’ve been here too long if tattoos freak you out this much,” the kid groaned, running his hands through messy, short, brown hair.

“Derek.”

“What?”

Derek cleared his throat and hoped it would clear his fuzzy head a little bit, too. “Not dude. Derek.”

The kid blinked. His brown eyes glinted amber when the early morning light struck them, then crinkled in the corners when he grinned, lopsided and bemused. “Right, sure. I’m Stiles.”

Derek nodded once, glad that his guess was finally confirmed. The silence stretched out between them. Long enough that the lopsided smile on Stiles’ face began to wilt and he shuffled in place awkwardly.

“S _ooo_. Yeah. Great conversational skills. I’m gonna go catch my train before I miss it again. Go… uh… stare at someone else,” Stiles muttered with a half-hearted little wave of his hand. He darted around Derek and ran up the stairs at Derek’s back. His run was uncoordinated, skipping steps there, almost tripping on the next, arms akimbo as if to help keep his balance the whole way up. He looked ludicrous.

But Derek stared after him until he was out of sight.

It took the screech of wheels on the track above to knock him out of it. To notice his heart beating too fast and his eyes dry from not blinking and his jaw aching from clenching too tight. Gums aching from fangs not quite falling.

A set of arm-sleeve tattoos and a scent like a hungover thunderstorm should not have him glued to the spot, tongue-tied and shell-shocked. That’s what he told himself when he made it home and fell into bed with his hands lying too close to his face.

* * *

 

“So, are you coming out for Christmas this year?” Laura asked absently.

Derek grabbed the next shirt to iron and shrugged. His sister looked up from whatever she was doing out of sight of the laptop camera to frown at him.

“What’s with that? You gotta decide now or you’ll use the same excuse you used the last two years– _it’s too last minute now_ ,” Laura mocked, voice going grumbling and high-pitched. Because for some reason, Laura loved to make fun of his voice that, apparently, ‘didn’t match his face’.

Derek sighed and coasted his iron over the shirt expertly. “I just haven’t felt like coming back. You liked coming out here, didn’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but… I don’t think I can do that much longer, Derriere.”

“Please, don’t.”

“Der-bear.”

“…”

“Derry-berry!”

“Laur.”

“All right, all right, you funsuck,” Laura chortled, hands uplifted and smirk unrepentant.

“I was thinking… maybe I could go with the others to Cambodia or something. I brought it up and Erica already sent me twenty emails of different guided tours and equipment I’ll need,” Derek told her. Laura’s face softened into something relieved and warm. It made Derek feel uncomfortable, head ducking and shoulders hunching around his ears.

“That actually sounds good. You really haven’t let yourself bond with them like you should. It’s good for you, Der,” Laura said softly. Laura sounding _soft_ was like Isaac sounding optimistic. Fucking weird.

“We haven’t set anything in stone,” he muttered as he put down the iron and grabbed a hanger.

Laura sighed roughly and, when he looked over, she was leaning forward on her elbows, chin propped up on her fists, as she scowled into the screen. Better. Much more Laura-like. “You’re killin’ me here, Derek.”

“I thought you liked coming out here? Why won’t you be coming out again?” Derek asked abruptly, grabbing a pair of pants out of the pile on his bed. He liked to pretend he hated having to iron _everything_ after a wash, acting like not having a dryer and air-drying his clothes was such an inconvenience, but he actually liked the simple, repetitive action of it each week.

Laura ran a hand through her hair and her crooked smile became rueful. Just before her eyes flashed red.

Derek dropped the pants the same time he dropped his jaw.

“Yeah, Mom… officially retired. Last full moon. We tried to contact you, but it was Chuseok. You shut down all communication when you go commune with flowers and raccoons and whatever Korea has,” Laura explained, trying to be teasing but the tightness around her eyes and mouth belied her tone. She actually seemed worried.

Derek’s hands were shaking, but he bent down out of sight to grab his dropped pants to hide it.

He hadn’t… he hadn’t even _felt_ it. No matter where he was, he was _Pack_. He should’ve felt the change. But the threads that tied them were so thin and stretched… His bond with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac was so much stronger. Clear and bright in his mind’s eye in a way the connection back towards home wasn’t.

“Der, c’mon. You know you could always come back home. We _miss_ you. It’s not right, you being that far away,” Laura urged him, tone pleading. “I could tell before how much you being so far away hurt. But now? Being alpha? I feel… I feel _splinched_ ,” she laughed uneasily. They were both remembering long nights spent huddled under the covers reading the newest book, gasping in shock and awe together. “Like I turned and forgot an arm behind me somewhere and can’t get to it. Come back home, Derek.”

Derek stared at the jeans in his hands, watched as his knuckles went white and the thick fabric creaked as he gripped too hard. It used to feel like a hole punched through his chest, that yearning to go back home. Now it was like a splinter. Sometimes too easily ignored, and other times feeling like an invasion under his skin. Gross and uncomfortable and _wrong_. Now his sister, his best friend, was the Alpha. Pleading for him to come home and be whole again.

“I can’t,” he said quietly, falling to the bed and staring down at his hands. The angry growl of irritation from the computer had him smirking slightly.

“Why not?! Derek, none of us you blame you, we’ve _never_ blamed you! You’re punishing yourself for something that never even happened. You won’t even allow yourself a real pack there! I’d understand, I would prefer it, if you just found a new place there, if you could be happy there. As long as you had family and Pack, I’d understand if you needed to do it somewhere else. But you’re not even doing _that_. The only reason you’re not an Omega is because Mom refused to let you go even though it was killing her!” Laura snarled, eyes glowing red at the edges. Even through the computers and thousands of miles between them, Derek could feel the frustrated rage pouring out of her.

“I have to go.”

“Derek, wait, no, I didn’t mean-”

“Love you, Laur.”

The screen went black, his finger hovering over the touchpad. A picture of Laura and Cora hugging and laughing popped up, the bubbling sound of an incoming call beating against his ears. Derek sighed and snapped the computer closed.

* * *

 

Monday came and went too soon, and the rest of the week flew by in a blur of snot-nosed kids and too many hours on _waygook.org_ trying to find fresh, new games to play. The weekend was passed sleeping. Erica and Isaac had shown up on Sunday, dragged him out for conversation and food, and then let him disappear back into his apartment to spend the rest of the day cleaning. The look of concern on their faces when they’d parted had him feeling restless and guilty. He knew Isaac must’ve told the others about Laura, and he wondered if they were scared he might leave now. And… if they were scared to lose _him_ or scared to lose the closest thing to an Alpha they had; the only thing that made them feel almost like a _Pack_ instead of delusional Omegas.

It was late afternoon, not quite dinner time, on a Wednesday as he slunk into an overly crowded carriage car, Isaac on his heels and staring down at his phone. Almost everyone on the subway was commuting to or from their day jobs, and Derek was just one of many. He still managed to stand out, of course, being bulkier and taller and _bearded_ , but he ignored it easily. It helped that Isaac was even taller and blonder and drew more stares than him. Isaac nudged Derek’s arm and tilted his phone towards him.

“She figured out the address. We should be able to taxi it.”

Derek nodded once. “She’s lucky our job actually _wants_ us to dress up for Halloween.”

Isaac smirked and raised an eyebrow. “You know you would’ve caved eventually. You’re a huge softie and you know it.”

Derek scoffed, arms crossing tightly over his chest, as he looked away. Only to freeze, eyebrows rising to his hairline and frowning mouth softening with surprise. He hadn’t caught the scent, or even the sound of his voice, because of all the commuters, but he was _there_.

Stiles. Stiles with the tattoos. (That was much better than ‘the kid with the heartbeat’, at least.)

Isaac was saying something, about whether or not he should go full scary or if it’d freak out their kids too badly, but Derek wasn’t listening. He was too focused on trying to pick up _anything_ from Stiles’ direction. He was wearing a new hoodie this time, an eye-catching red one, sleeves to his wrists and covering up the artwork on his arms unfortunately. Underneath was a too-tight blue shirt, the logo long faded and almost illegible, but it looked like…a cloud? Or a muffin? Those yellow jeans were back, the hems flipped up and showing off white socks and dirty black Chucks. He was laughing about something, leaning in close to the person next to him, mouth moving a mile a minute. It took too long for Derek to actually _notice_ the person he was leaning so familiarly against.

The pretty Korean-looking girl– Kiki or something?– was leaning just as close to him, long black hair brushing his cheek and shoulder. Her eyes were on his phone, her lips curved into an amused grin, and they were sharing one set of earbuds. She was suddenly laughing, so hard she was doubling over and everyone around them was glaring in their direction. Stiles started making some strange headbopping motion, mouth pursing as he tried to beatbox, and then opened his mouth. The girl tried to slap a hand over his mouth, looking scandalized and teary-eyed from laughter. Stiles just ducked away and added some _absurd_ shoulder shimmy that had her head tipping back into rebellious guffaws. A few people turned to shush them, actually _shush them_ , affronted annoyance on their faces. Stiles merely winked and fingergunned in their direction.

Derek couldn’t help the soft laugh that left him, his head ducking low as a hand rubbed over his face. The guy was absolutely shameless. And rude. And loud. And aggressively aggravating. But his friend was red-cheeked and giggling, having the time of her life.

Isaac leaned in close, his scent sharp with surprise. “Derek, what are you- Oh… hey. I know them.”

Derek froze, eyes wide on Isaac’s profile. The tall Beta frowned pensively before his expression cleared. “Kira! And Stiles! That’s it. I’ve seen them all over Danny’s ‘Story. Did you recognize them from the bar last month?” Isaac asked, a mix of confused and astonished written across his face.

Derek scowled hard. “No, they’re just being loud.”

Isaac’s head tilted slightly, eyes flickering to Derek’s chest. Derek glowered angrily, as if daring for Isaac to comment on the slight blip of his heart. It wasn’t like him to give away a simple lie like that, and it was more the tell than the lie that had Isaac staring at him. His eyes darted towards Kira and Stiles, then to Derek’s dark scowl, and back again. He wasn’t quite making the leap, but he knew Derek wasn’t saying everything. It wouldn’t take too much more for Isaac to connect the dots.

“You didn’t tell me you exchanged Kakaos with Danny.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t ask. Derek, what’s this about?”

“We should be focusing on the costumes,” Derek stated firmly. Effectively ending the conversation. “Walking around as a hyper-realistic zombie is not the best idea with five-year-olds, Isaac.” Isaac huffed and rolled his eyes.

“It’s 2017, man. Those kids are so jaded, they probably won’t care at all _unless_ it’s hyper-realistic,” Isaac argued, thankfully following Derek’s lead. As they bantered back and forth about gore and kids and the amount of effort Derek wasn’t planning on using, he couldn’t help but sneak a look Stiles’ way.

A few times.

One last time, just before Isaac and Derek got off for their stop, Derek glanced over in the two friends’ direction. The cars had cleared out a little and there was an empty gap of space right down the middle of the carriage. It left the view of Stiles and his friend completely unblocked. But also the view to Derek and Isaac. His eyes met a dark brown gaze that shouldn’t be this recognizable already, and Derek’s eyes widened slightly. The minute reaction on his features were mirrored times a hundred, as Stiles gaped over at him. His mouth looked cherry-red, the drawstring of his hoodie falling from his teeth. Slowly, his eyebrows rose high and his lips curved up on the side. His hand rose in a wave.

With a jerk of his head, Derek turned on his heel and stomped off the subway the moment the doors opened.

* * *

 

Glue was sticking to almost every fingertip, and fluffy leftover bits of gaudily colored feathers clung to every crease of his hands. But 5 year olds could be pretty terrible at using glue, and he liked going over the crafts that were going to hang on his classroom walls, making sure all the painstakingly created projects wouldn’t fall apart overnight. Isaac was typing away at his computer, going over his lesson plan for the fifth or so time, muttering under his breath about how many crayons or kids’ safety scissors he’d need for a class. Holidays were always a lot of fun– watching the kids get excited and learn how to celebrate the way Derek did back home but, for them, were mostly things they only saw in movies or cartoons. However, it didn’t make the preparations and _during_ part any less a hectic, chaotic mess.

Isaac groaned and slumped back in his chair, letting it swivel lazily as his neck fell against the cushioned back of it. The sound of his computer shutting down had Derek capping his glue stick and readying for his last bit of clean up. If Isaac had finally given up, that meant it was time for dinner.

“So…”

Derek looked up, frowning absently as he picked at the fluff stuck to his skin. Isaac snorted loudly and dug out a pack of wet wipes from his desk. Wet wipes and an ungodly amount of tissues were a kindergarten teacher’s most valuable commodities.

“What is it?”

Isaac twisted his tall, stork-like frame in his chair to cross his arms over the back and perch his chin there. He looked... hesitant and uncertain, but also determined. “I had my first date with Danny last Friday. He came over here to Gimhae.”

Derek’s eyebrows rose. “I’m happy for you?”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Apparently he has a friend who lives here and he said a lot of them come over to hang out. She’s got the nicest place, even though it’s so far away from campus.”

“So, he’s a student.”

Derek glared as glitter and feathers rained from his lap when he stood. Hopefully their small shared vacuum wasn’t on the fritz this week. No way would a broom help with this.

“Yeah, a computer science grad student. His friend, Stiles, is a Lit major. Or Criminology, can’t remember which, or maybe it was both?”

Derek’s steps faltered as he stilled in the middle of the room, hands held in front of him mid-shake and neon fluff floating to his feet. “I don’t know what any of that has to do with me. I thought you were dating Danny, not this Stiles guy,” Derek replied with forced nonchalance. He bent down out of sight to snag the vacuum, movements jerky and stiff.

When he looked back, Isaac was rolling his eyes again, this time so hard Derek could hear his mother’s voice in his head teasing– ‘ _they’ll fall right out of your head if you keep that up’_. Isaac got out of his chair and went to pick up the miscellaneous supplies Derek hadn’t yet put away.

“I’m not stupid. You think I didn’t notice you looking back at him and his friend the other day? Or that I didn’t figure out that it must’ve been the same guy that had you twitching outside a bar just a few weeks ago?” Isaac finally said with a slight frown on his face as he set everything in their boxes or trays on the shelves.

“That’s a bit of a reach,” Derek mumbled. Before he could flick on the vacuum and drown out the rest of this conversation he didn’t want to be in, Isaac’s hand fell over his. Derek glanced up and barely kept down a sigh. Isaac was looking at him with _those_ eyes; those earnest, sympathetic eyes that only showed around family. That reminded Derek too much of that shy, desperate teenager that smiled through tears when he took pain away from a dying dog for the first time.

There was no bullshitting or ignoring those eyes.

“Derek, I get it, why you push us away. I know what happened back home–” his hand tightened briefly when Derek’s jerked in his grasp; he stayed put with supreme force of will and Isaac’s grip loosened, “but I always thought it was stupid.”

Derek felt his mouth curling into an almost snarl, but Isaac was bulldozing on.

“You can deny being Pack with Erica and Boyd if you have to. You can deny you came to Korea at all just to punish yourself. You can even deny ‘till you’re blue in the face that you’re attracted to someone. But _why_? Why do you have constantly deny things that are good for you?”

Derek finally jerked his arm away, gaze falling away and unable to keep connected with Isaac’s too searching and earnest one. “He’s going to leave anyway. He’s a student,” Derek muttered with a one-shouldered shrug. “What’s the point?”

“It doesn’t have to be that guy then! Anyone! You haven’t even flirted with anyone since you got here. Not since Kate–”

“And maybe there’s a reason for that,” Derek interrupted shortly. Isaac wrenched open his mouth, blue eyes flashing and furious to Beta gold and back to blue. Instead of listening, Derek flicked the vacuum on and got down on his knees to clean up his feathery, glittery mess. It mattered more than a conversation that would go nowhere anyway.

He could hear Isaac’s low, aggravated grumblings over the vacuum, of course. But he pretended like he didn’t.

* * *

 

This was not in his element. This wasn’t even in Boyd’s element, and yet Boyd was the one that had asked him to come. Boyd didn’t ask for favors, the same way he didn’t throw money around or share personal information easily. So when Boyd had called him up just days ago to ask Derek to go with him somewhere, Derek was half-agreeing before Boyd had even finished. Now, Derek had learned the hard way to not even trust Boyd. He threw Boyd an aggravated and bewildered look the moment they walked into the small, crowded cafe and stepped up to a table covered in blank namecards.

Boyd merely shrugged, palms spread wide, and grabbed the nearest namecard and sharpie.

“So you’re new tonight?” chirped the eager, brightly smiling attendee at the table. He got to his feet to hold out a hand to shake awkwardly over the the table.

“Uh, yeah,” Derek grunted, throwing Boyd another dark glance. The amusement on his friend’s face was not soothing in the least.

“That’s great! We ask all new people to come to the front and introduce themselves before we start,” Derek and Boyd shared identical grimaces, “but you don’t have to. Just write your name and find a table that doesn’t have a foreigner. We want every table to have one native English speaker.”

So... he had to sit in the company of total strangers for an hour, with the sole purpose of asking either rote, boring questions or incredibly invasive ones, and Boyd couldn’t even sit with him? His name on his card was thick and messy with how forcefully he wrote his name. The plastic of the Sharpie in his hand creaking ominously before he carefully dropped it to the table. Both ‘wolves ignored the chirpy reminder to introduce themselves later as they walked away.

“Why are we here?” Derek muttered to Boyd when they got to the counter to order coffee. “This isn’t exactly your thing either.”

“I made a promise.” Boyd levelled a cool stare at him and Derek pinched the bridge of his nose.

“And you roped me into this because…?”

“That was part of the promise,” Boyd answered vaguely. At least it was better than one word answers (not that Derek was much better).

“What does that mean?”

“There’s a break about halfway through. Come get me if it sucks that bad and I’ll buy you one of those macaron ice cream sandwiches you swear you don’t like,” Boyd suggested with an exasperated eye roll. Derek scowled, but didn’t actually protest. Even if it wasn’t “that bad”, they would probably be sick of it by then anyway and the macaron sandwiches would happen regardless.

“You’re going to have to tell me how someone managed to force you into this,” Derek muttered as he shoved the namecard into his pocket. Boyd merely shrugged enigmatically and walked over to the table furthest from the center of the room. Derek did the same, but in the opposite direction. The further he was away from Mr. Chippy at the door, the better to hide when he called for new people to come introduce themselves.

When they called for introductions, a handful of people went up to the front, mostly Korean kids from the college who wanted to learn better English. There was a smattering of applause for everyone’s introduction, and Derek very carefully slouched low in his seat to keep the MC guy from spotting him. After that, the simple rules of the English Roundtable Derek somehow got suckered into were explained.

One, no switching tables. There must be at least one native speaker of English at every table before more can sit together. If lost for subjects, use the printed list of questions provided at the table. Lastly… _have fun_. Derek groaned inwardly, but tried his best to keep his expression neutral rather than irritated. He didn’t know if he was failing utterly or if the cluster of barely older than teenage girls around him were just overly timid. They mostly stuck to the list of questions, barely stuttered out in his direction while the other girls leaned close to whisper anxiously. When he heard one girl muttering in quiet Korean that he looked so old, he sighed roughly.

“I’m twenty-eight,” he repeated in Korean, watching as they gasped in shock. He switched back to English, “I promise, I’m not in my thirties.”

“So you know Korean!” one girl (… was is JunHyun?) exclaimed with a happy smile.

Derek shrugged. “A little.”

That seemed to be icebreaker enough for the girls to ignore the list entirely and pepper him with questions. The amount of Korean increased the more he understood and, honestly, he was just glad they weren’t asking the stupid– _‘do you have a girlfriend’, ‘are you married’, ‘how much money do you make’_ – routine questions, that he didn’t mind dredging up his limited amount of spoken Korean skills to reply. Despite how much better it went, Derek was more than relieved when the hour ended and the MC announced the first half over. Derek made sure to shake hands with each woman– JiHyun, Seoyeon, and Minseo– and they cheerfully forced him to save their Kakao accounts before he could get away.

The coffee bar was reassuringly solid under his arms when he all but collapsed against it. There were just so many _people_ and voices. He’d just never been particularly fond of being surrounded by strangers. Years away from Pack, in a foreign country, but he still didn’t like it. His small circle of friends, hard-won and overbearing, was more than enough for him. He let the scent of coffee and juice and too many people wash over him, vehemently ignoring the sounds of too many conversations and the jarring clink of glasses to tabletops to focus on his own heartbeat to calm himself. He was nowhere close to losing control of his wolf, but he wasn’t exactly comfortable.

It took much too long for him to realize it wasn’t _his_ heartbeat.

A body moved closer, the scent of ozone and black coffee suddenly stronger than everything else. Derek jerked his head up, eyes widening in astonishment, to see _that kid_ standing next to him, looking just as surprised while his heartbeat thundered rabbit-fast in Derek’s ears. He was dressed in the usual (Derek thought _usual_ , but he’d only seen him a handful of times), a bright blue and green plaid with a white long-sleeved undershirt on underneath. There was no ridiculous slogan to this one, but it was tight and clinging, showing off arms and chest that his baggy layers had hidden before so well. Just faintly, under the white cotton, Derek could make out the dark shadows of tattoos that crawled up toned biceps to disappear under the short blue sleeves.

The guy, Stiles, stared wordlessly. His mouth hung open, red lips parted in a way that drew Derek’s gaze, and his warm brown eyes dark in the under-lit interior of the coffee shop.

“Whoa… you do _not_ look like the kinda dude I’ve seen here,” Stiles breathed out at last. A startled chuckle escaped Derek just before he could catch it, and Stiles’ mouth curved into a pleased smile. “So… _do_ you come here often?” Stiles asked, crossing his arms onto the counter and leaning against it. He’d gotten closer without Derek noticing, one hand hanging in the air just a hair’s breadth away from brushing Derek’s arm.

With an unimpressed snort, Derek grabbed the heavy tumbler of water in front of him. “That pick-up line doesn’t even work ironically.” The mischievous and interested gleam in Stiles’ dark eyes should not have Derek’s heartbeat suddenly competing with Stiles’.

“So you’re saying there _is_ a pick-up line that _could_ conceivably work?”

“That’s a heavy-handed extrapolation.”

“Oh fuck,” Stiles breathed out. Derek stared at him as the spicy, cinnamon-y scent of arousal wafted off of him. “You’re scary as fuck and talk like a professor. That’s just playing dirty.”

“I do not talk like a professor,” Derek argued, mouth dry even as he scowled. “I’m a kindergarten teacher.”

Stiles burst into laughter, his brows tight and frowning at the same time. As if he were disbelieving at the same time he was utterly _delighted_.

“Oh my _God_ , of course you are.”

Derek glowered darkly. “What does that mean?”

Stiles flapped a hand at Derek, gesturing from his general torso area to Derek’s face. “It means you’re built like a brick house, you’ve got a face that could make angels weep and scare the boogeyman at the same time, and _of course_ you teach tiny humans how to human. You’re a giant scowly teddy bear, aren’t you?”

“Again with the assumptions,” Derek retorted with an eye roll that had Stiles grinning widely in the most exasperating way.

“So, ‘fess up, is this really your scene? You could barely introduce yourself like a real boy every other time we’ve ever run into each other. Why in the world are you at an event where you’re just supposed to talk to people the whole time?” Stiles asked, genuinely flabbergasted even as his tone was teasing and light.

Derek jerked his head towards the table Boyd had disappeared to an hour ago. “I came with a friend.”

Stiles blinked in confusion and turned to look. “Dude, all I see are a bunch of college kids younger’n _me_. Pretty sure a couple of them just fish-mouthed at me when I tried to say hey, like, a minute ago,” he replied, with both eyebrows in danger of disappearing into his hairline.

Derek straightened up to peer in that direction. Sure enough, there were only a handful of Korean guys talking animatedly over mostly empty cups of Americano. No Boyd in sight. Derek fumbled with his pocket and pulled out his phone. A single message from Boyd was waiting, sent barely five minutes ago.

 **Boyd << ** _If you don’t talk to him like an adult, I’ll tell Erica just what his name is and how to find him._

Derek stared, blinked, and then stared a little harder. With a groan, Derek slumped against the counter and scrubbed at his face. Of course Isaac had told Boyd. It couldn’t have been that hard for Boyd to find the other foreigner grad students that went to his same university. Hell, he and Isaac might’ve found him on Facebook, or gotten that Dimple-guy to help them out. Boyd and Isaac were _supposed_ to be the ones that didn’t give a shit about his love life. Yet here he was, in the middle of a bad matchmaking plot concocted by the two least likely to do so.

“Yo, what the fuck? Did your friend bail out on you?! What a dick!” Stiles exclaimed furious on Derek’s behalf and yanking him out of his head. He turned a little to see dark brown eyes flashing in annoyance, his mouth thinned flatly.

“Not exactly,” Derek sighed, with an awkward shrug. He couldn’t exactly explain to Stiles that his nosy Betas were trying to set him up _with Stiles_. If it had been up to Erica, they probably would’ve ended up stranded in an elevator somewhere. At least Boyd had given him an easy escape option. “I’m gonna head out now, though. Gimhae’s a long ride–”

“Wait, hold up. You’re not even gonna get pissed? You’re just gonna let some shitty friend choices ruin your night?” Stiles demanded, hands flailing comically. Derek raised an eyebrow.

“Staying won’t exactly make this night any better.”

Stiles chewed on his bottom lip, almost viciously, one red-jean-clad leg bouncing in place. Derek’s hand twitched, and he quickly shoved it in his pocket. Before he did something stupid, like pressed his thumb to Stiles’ lip, draw out the pain and distract him from the nervous little tick that bruised his already eye-catching lips to scarlet.

“Just… wait here. Lemme tell Kira I’m gonna go. She’s over at that table that has, like, two Japanese exchange students trying to learn Korean, so she’s basically a superstar tonight ‘cuz she can speak all three. She won’t care if I bail out early again.”

“Again?”

Stiles snorted loudly and downed the last of his obviously gone-cold coffee if his grimace meant anything. “I may be a beam of sunshine in comparison, Mr. Heathcliff, but I’m not exactly cut out for this either,” he replied with an outrageous wink that his whole body moved with.

Derek watched him wend his way towards a group of loud and laughing people, with hips bumping into tables and feet catching on chair legs.

 **Me >>** _I’m not saying thank you._

 **Boyd <<** _You’re welcome._

Within the next ten minutes, Derek was breathing in the chill November air deeply, the scent of gasoline and tarmac, of the sea and street food. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders unknotted. When he turned to look, Stiles was already looking over at him, their eyes almost level. Standing this close, Derek finally could tell Stiles was almost taller. And while he was lankier and built more slender, his shoulders were just as broad and his hands bigger, fingers longer, than Derek’s. There was a swift there and gone again smile before Stiles pushed his sleeves up to the elbows and stretched his arms high over his head.

“Now that I’m not stuck at a table with a bunch of people who don’t know it’s not polite to _stare_ , I can  finally cool off a bit. Summer was hell wearing sleeves all the time,” Stiles noted absently, obviously making small talk to fill in the slight awkwardness walking in the near dark with a stranger created.

“They’re… they’re amazing.”

There was an odd flutter of hands and a half-hearted shrug, accompanied by the sugary smell of _pleased_. “Useful, mainly.”

Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles’ profile. How in the world were tattoos _useful_?

“So, what’re your plans? You’re really just gonna head back to Gimhae?” Stiles asked, hands dragging through his hair and his teeth caught on his bottom lip.

“…do you like ice cream?”

“In November?” Stiles asked incredulously. Derek shrugged helplessly. Stiles’ face lit up with a wide grin. “Let’s do it.”

 

 

Stiles all but moaned the moment he sunk his teeth into the bright minty-green treat. Vanilla ice cream smeared against the corners of his mouth and bright crumbs clung to the arch of his top lip. Stiles had chosen two different sandwiches, the first one simple: two mint macarons holding a layer of vanilla ice cream between them. Derek watched, mouth frozen and wide, with the macaron held in his hand forgotten as Stiles’ eyelashes fluttered.

“ _Oh my God_ , man, this is so good,” Stiles mumbled around a mouthful of chewy, soft cookie and ice cream. Derek was equal parts appalled and riveted. “You said _ice cream_ , not the most incredible dessert invention since Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups! I should’ve bought, like, a dozen of these things.”

“They’d– They’d melt,” Derek managed to force out around clearing his throat. He bit into his own ice cream sandwich, almost on autopilot, and hummed appreciatively. The Oreo-flavored ones were definitely the best. No matter what pornographic sounds Stiles kept on making as he scarfed his mint one down.

“Not how fast I eat ‘em. Oh, dude, you’ve been here a while, right?”

“Almost six years,” Derek agreed lightly. For a moment, Stiles frowned, but it cleared away with a slight headshake.

“Yeah, you’re basically ancient then.” Derek barked out a laugh at Stiles shit-eating grin. “So you’ve had real hotteok, right? Kira’s been going on about it all week. She says it’s almost cold enough for the street sellers to come out with it in droves.”

Derek nodded absently, polishing off his macaron and sadly crumpling up the wrapping paper. Like everywhere else in Korea, Busan had a horrible lack of public trashcans. Derek shoved the crumpled ball in his pocket and side-eyed Stiles, who was halfway through his second, bright blue and orange monstrosity of a macaron sandwich.

“My first year I probably stopped for hotteok once a day,” Derek admitted sheepishly. He could remember too clearly the past few years of catching that scent from blocks away, the smell of fried dough and cinnamon and just a little bit of peanuts, the slick heavy scent of hot oil in the back of his throat, unable to completely get it out of his nose until he was walking away with his own, hot and fresh in its tiny cardboard cup in his hands.

“Someone’s got a not so secret sweet-tooth. You’re really ruining the serial killer vibe,” Stiles taunted. Derek scowled at him even as his chest felt light and contented at the laughter spilling out of Stiles’ mouth at the dark look. “I’m really looking forward to it. If there’s one thing I love about Korea, it’s the food. I mean, I could get a cronut in Seoul within minutes of walking into the store. That was pretty wild,” Stiles laughed, tipping his head back. Derek gazed at the line of his throat, eyes trailing down the smooth, pale expanse of it to the high, round collar of his undershirt.

“You’ll miss it when you leave,” Derek muttered, pulling his eyes away.

“Uh, yeah, I guess? But I won’t be leaving for, like, another year? A year and a half? Noshiko– uh, sorry, my thesis advisor. She’s here for two years teaching her new course. And her husband is from here, so Kira’s grandparents and some aunts and uncles are scattered all over Korea. They might stay longer,” Stiles told him with a frown. He cursed suddenly, and Derek looked over to see him licking at his wrist and hand, the ice cream from his macaron sandwich melted from the warmth of his hand, even though the night air was cool.

With a quiet scoff, Derek snagged the last of the cookie away and popped it into his mouth. He raised his eyebrows challengingly as Stiles gaped at him, jaw unhinged and affront rolling off of him in waves.

“Did you just… _eat my cookie_? My _Mets_ cookie?” Stiles squawked, hands chopping through the air. A bit of ice cream was smeared from his mouth to his cheek and there was a drip of it on his blue plaid. Derek couldn’t stop staring as his mouth quirked up into a smirk.

“If I’d known it was a Mets cookie, I would’ve just tossed it. A Mets fan, really? I thought you were intelligent?”

“OI! That’s just–!”

Derek was actually laughing, hands clutching his sides as Stiles sputtered uselessly. He couldn’t remember the last time he liked someone’s company like this. Like he was on a tightrope, waiting for it to snap, anticipation sweet rather than terrifying. There was still so much left unsaid, still an uncertain future in front of him, but…

_Why do you have constantly deny things that are good for you?_

_We’ve never blamed you!_

Derek stared sightlessly in front of him, barely listening to Stiles’ low grumbling threats of dishonor on his cow or something… was that a Disney reference? Really? His mouth twitched at the corner. Even ignoring his mumbling was difficult. A hand touched his shoulder and Derek started at the touch, glaring down at the hand– warm even through leather and cloth– that lay there.

“I’m takin’ my hand off,” Stiles stammered, quickly stepping back and holding up both hands defensively.

“You just startled me. It’s fine,” Derek muttered, head ducked and ears feeling strangely hot in the cold November air.

“Right, um, I just thought. Since we’re making stupid choices in winter, let’s keep it going,” Stiles suggested, chuckling softly as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“What.”

“The beach. C’mon,” Stiles clarified with an eye roll and a jab of his thumb over his shoulder.

Derek hesitated only a moment before nodding and following Stiles across the street to the beach. They took off their shoes and carried them in their hands. The sand was coarse and cold under his bare feet, sending shivers up his spine as the breeze coasted off the top of the bay and trailed down the back of his jacket. Across the water, the Diamond Bridge was lit up, the shifting colors slow, but unceasing. After a while, without really talking, they both sank to the sand and watched the bridge glow in the distance.

“So… I gotta ask… are we gonna do it on purpose next time?”

Derek glanced over. Stiles wasn’t looking back, his eyes fixed on the Bridge. The faint light of the street behind them cast his face in shadow, but he could just barely make out the quick dart of Stiles’ tongue on his lips. It smelled too strongly of sand and sea and ozone, the last scent so strong the hair along Derek’s arms rose as if static electricity was just inches away. It was too difficult to parse out whatever chemosignals Stiles might be exuding.

“Do what on purpose?”

A heavy exhale through his nose proceeded Stiles finally turning to meet Derek’s gaze. “The meetings! It’s always on accident! I… I kinda wanna see what happens if we do it on purpose. Now that I know you’re more likely to steal my ice cream than eat me–”

“Eat you,” Derek deadpanned.

“Dude, have you seen those murder brows? Not important! Now that I know it’s just your face–”

“Thanks.” Derek’s voice was so dry it burned and Stiles snorted loudly before completely ignoring him.

“–I wanna plan it. I want to… go to a coffee shop without fifty people all trying to ask me ‘am I teacher or a student’. With you. Just in case you missed that,” Stiles tacked on wryly.

Derek’s mouth tightened. “I don’t date, Stiles. This was nice. But it’s just been a coincidence-”

“Once is an incident, Derek,” Stiles interrupted almost harshly. “Twice is a coincidence. Three times? That’s a pattern, but four? Five? However many it’s been? That’s _more_ than a pattern. My dad’s a sheriff back home and he taught me _that_ when I used to try and stick my nose in his business.”

“Used to? Aren’t you in Criminology?” Derek blurted.

Stiles whipped around and stared at him, something acrid, not quite fear, in the air. “How’d you know that?!”

“Isaac. Isaac’s my Be-best friend. He’s seeing… Daniel?”

“Daniel? Oh, Danny! … Tall ‘n Curly is yours? Was he the friend that ditched you tonight? Because Danny and Kira were the ones that forced _me_ to come tonight…” Stiles said with a dawning sort of comprehension and suspicion on his face.

“Actually, it was Boyd. But I’m pretty sure he colluded with Isaac,” he said darkly.

A short pause. And then a loud, obnoxiously infectious bark of laughter burst out of Stiles. “Colluded? Your friends played matchmaker and that’s _colluding_?” Stiles broke off, coughing behind his fist. “That’s… that’s what happened right? I’m not _assuming_ again?”

Derek huffed and shook his head. “That’s exactly what happened.”

“So… your friends, plus mine, set us up. We run into each other constantly, in _Busan_ , the San Francisco of South Korea–”

“No one calls it that,” Derek said incredulously.

“–but that’s not enough clues for you?”

“Clues for what? Destiny? _Fate_?” Derek spat acidly. Stiles startled next to him. “I had someone say that before.” _C’mon, sweetie, didn’t you know? Me, a hunter, you, a monster. It’s just our fate, sweetheart._

“Hey, dude, it’s not about fate, not really. I mean, no lie, I was totally terrified of you at first, but I think…” Stiles trailed off, gnawing on his thumb until Derek reached over and smacked his hand away. Stiles gave him a lopsided smile. “I think we could be something pretty great.”

They shared a long look, wind rustling their hair and making Stiles shiver. Derek remembered then just how human Stiles was. And two years or not, in the long run, Stiles would go back. And maybe _Derek_ would finally go back. He couldn’t give up his Pack, not forever. If he couldn’t for his friends here, who needed him as much as he needed them, why would he give it up for a human stranger with a lopsided smile and clumsy hands? With a grunt, Derek got to his feet and Stiles scrambled up after him.

“I think I have a subway to catch.”

Derek tucked his shoes under his arm and turned away. Leaving Stiles behind to curse and stumble over shifting sand.

“Damn it, Derek. I’m _not_ chasing after you!”

“Bye, Stiles.”

“Wait, just… hey,” Stiles gasped, barely grabbing onto Derek’s jacket sleeve. His hand was almost hot as he yanked Derek around. Too dumbfounded by the strength a human shouldn’t have, Derek gaped at Stiles as he gulped down a few breaths. “Look, I get it. You don’t know me, and I don’t know you, either. I’m not trying to say I do. I _want_ to, Derek. So if you honestly don’t, then fine. Keep walking. I don’t know why you’re denying it, but sure. I learned the hard way what consent means and I’ll respect it.”

Derek eyebrows shot up at that. “Stiles…?”

“Not important. So,” Stiles straightened up and gave Derek that lopsided smile again. “I don’t know if we could make this work,” his hand flapped between them, “I don’t know why you’re here, or how long you’ll stay, or even how long I will. That doesn’t change…” Stiles dragged a hand through his hair, eyes darting away and back again to meet Derek’s head-on. “I still think it’s worth it. I don’t ignore patterns. They’re important, and I think you’re supposed to be important too. Murderbrows and all.”

“Please, stop calling my eyebrows murderers,” Derek sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Stiles laughed brightly.

“Look, tomorrow I’m going to come back. See… there, you see the Angel In Us?” Stiles prompted, pointing to the lit up cafe across the street, the white and yellow facade glowing like a bright beacon in the dusk.

“It’s Angelinus,” Derek corrected mildly. The utter _I don’t give a fuck_ on Stiles’ face had Derek holding back laughter almost painfully.

“Tomato-potato, asshole,” Stiles hand-waved with a eye roll that would’ve put Isaac to shame. His eyes looked… lighter, almost Beta gold, and his voice slightly heavier when they bore into Derek’s sternly. Derek shifted on his feet, the coarse sand scratching and rough on his soles. “I’m gonna be there, working on my thesis and drinking too much coffee. And if… you don’t show up, I’ll get it, okay? I’ll back off. I’ll even try to avoid you better in Gimhae. But you should show up, Derek. Give me a chance.”

Wind whipped over the beach, sand burning in Derek’s eyes. That was the only reason he broke their shared, intense gaze. It had nothing to do with how tight his chest felt. How hard it felt to breathe. Being faced down with a chance for something he _wanted_ , but didn’t deserve. Couldn’t see _how_ to want properly.

“I’ll think about it,” he managed hoarsely.

“That’s better than a no.”

“It’s not a yes,” Derek snapped.

Stiles grinned. “It could be.”

Derek huffed and turned away before Stiles caught sight of Derek’s responding smile. This time, when he walked way, Stiles stayed behind.

The sea crashing on the shore covered up the sound of his heartbeat and Derek’s head felt empty without it.

* * *

 

Late afternoon night burned dazzling and gold over the whitewashed tables and chairs on the balcony of the chain-franchise coffee shop. It was just the right time for the place to be packed to the brim– office workers and college students and moms chatting over Americanos while their kids ran around the tables unchecked. Stiles downed the dregs of his regular pour-over coffee (it wasn’t quite finals season, so it was without the extra espresso shot). On the screen in front of him, an all-too-familiar face was gazing at him with all-too-familiar concern in big brown eyes under floppy brown hair. Stiles grimaced at the cold coffee, but got it down without gagging.

“ _Stiles, c’mon, man. Stop… doing that thing you do when it’s important. Evading! That’s it_!” Scott exclaimed on the screen, actually snapping his fingers. Like a dork. Stiles couldn’t help the exasperated smirk, shoulders slumping as he gave in. Well tuned to Stiles’ body language, Scott’s concern morphed into relief, his sunny smile warming Stiles in a way the late autumn sunlight couldn’t.

“Damn, I miss you, bro.”

“ _Yeah, I know. But my mom said something about this being good for our co-dependence or something. Now, come on, let it out_ ,” Scott urged, all his considerable focus on Stiles.

“It’s… you remember that guy… with the furry problem I told you about?” Stiles asked, dancing around outing anything supernatural where anybody might hear. Scott barely choked back a snicker.

“ _The one with the scary eyebrows_?”

Stiles frowned. “Scary eyebrows doesn’t do them justice. But yeah, that guy. I… well… got to know the man behind the brows.”

It was Scott’s turn to frown, perplexed. “ _What does that mean, exactly_?”

Stiles sighed, rolled his eyes upward, and laid out what happened the night before. It rushed out of him, his shoulders slumping as he slouched further and further in his chair. By the end, Scott was doing his ‘disappointed but trying to be supportive’ face. Stiles knew that expression all too well.

“I know, okay! I know that I messed up! I shouldn’t have done that! I tried to not force him into a corner, but I did anyway. He has his own issues, I barely even know him, but it’s _obvious_ his issues have issues and I don’t know anything about them, and I just forced him to make this choice for a stranger. Like, what was I thinking, Scott?” Stiles exclaimed, slumping over the table and digging his fingers into his hair.

“ _Hey, Stiles, cut yourself some slack. You hit it off with someone, you felt it_ – _that… potential, you know? I get it. I’d be a hypocrite not to get it_ ,” Scott pointed, a little wryly. If there was one thing Scott learned going through college and just life in general, was how to look back and see some of what he’d done objectively. Hindsight was 20/20, after all. They both shared a _look_ when they thought about the two biggest relationships Scott had and how much Scott really _got it_.

“Yeah, okay, but at least it was mutual! Both of you, you and Ally and you and Kira, you both went full throttle together! I just. God, Scott, was this another Lydia thing? I couldn’t even look her in the eye this morning because all I could think was, fuck, I did it _again_. She’d kill me,” Stiles confessed with actual humiliation written clear across his face.

“ _This is **not** another Lydia thing. You didn’t corner him. You’re not gonna stalk him and Nice-Guy him if he doesn’t show up, are you_?” Scott asked pointedly, brows high and eyes stern.

“What, no! I’m not that much a creep. I’m not sixteen anymore,” Stiles replied sharply. Scott shrugged and smiled gently.

“ _Then, you weren’t a bad guy. You were just… honest. I’m proud of you for taking a chance on yourself,_ ” Scott said stoutly.

Stiles scoffed under his breath. Scott would cheer for True Love™ even if it were happening between two villains while they planned a comic-book-esque world domination plot. Okay, maybe he wouldn’t go that far, but he was a pretty big True Love champion.

“Thanks, buddy.” Stiles pulled up something like a smile before shrugging slightly. “How’s Malia doing with the Hales? You know how much she doesn’t like telling details, even to Kira,” Stiles asked, not so discreetly changing the subject. It was getting really close to dinner and Derek still hadn’t shown up; continually talking about it was just making him feel worse no matter how many puppy-faced smiles Scott gave him. Scott easily followed the subject change this time, knowing Stiles too well to force it now.

“ _She’s been doing a lot better. You know she never really got along with Satomi or Satomi’s Pack. It’s just too…_ ”

“Complicated?” Stiles suggested wryly when Scott struggled for a diplomatic word.  “Not to mention the whole feeling abandoned just a few years after being forced back into her human skin thing.”

“ _Yeah, exactly. The Hales are a family and she really likes the Preserve. At least we’ll have a solid ally in the Hales_ ,” Scott sighed, sounding weary.

Stiles grimaced awkwardly. “Did Satomi set an actual date?”

“ _Yeah, and the Betas not following her back to Japan are already leaving. Talia agreed to help watch over the territory until you all get back, but… Stiles. Being an Alpha_?” Scott dropped his head to stare at his hands laying palms-up on the desk in front of him. He looked torn and confused. “ _I don’t think I’m cut out for it._

 _“I don’t want to steal someone else’s Alpha Spark, and I don’t like telling people what to do and how to think. That’s not who I am. And… I’ve been there for Laura’s training. There are… decisions Talia’s warning us about, the grey lines an Alpha has to tread in our kind of world. You know that I argued with Satomi all the time about how she dealt with threats_ ,” Scott reminded him, almost desperately. Stiles groaned and nodded. Oh yeah, he knew about those arguments. The entire Ito Pack heard them. “ _Talia said that’s fine, great even, for a Second. You know, for keeping the Alpha from becoming some sort of murderous tyrant, but…”_ He looked almost ashamed, voice dropping into a whisper.

“ _Sometimes an Alpha has to make a call that I never could, Stiles. I know you all are putting your hopes on me to step up, but I’m not sure I can. I’m not sure I **want** to_ ,” Scott admitted softly, but there was still something stubborn and so _Scott_ about the set to his uneven jaw.

Silence dropped between them because Stiles? Stiles couldn’t argue with that. And that left a huge problem with… If Scott couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , force himself into the empty void Satomi left in order to return to her ancestral home and take it back from the ones who drove her out, then… who was going to take his place?

“Is Talia willing to take over Beacon Hills, too? Beacon Valley isn’t that far. We share the Preserve already. Or Laura since she’s next in line,” Stiles asked. Scott frowned pensively.

“ _Maybe. But they’re a smaller Pack than the Ito Pack. The territory might stretch them too thin trying to protect it all. Especially with Derek not around_.”

“Wait, who?” Stiles interrupted. “I think you got some names mixed up. Derek’s my ‘wolf, not yours.” He glanced around guiltily, hand rubbing his arm-tatts through his sleeves. Nothing got his spidey-senses tingling, and he turned his attention back to Scott.

“ _You sound a bit more sure of yourself compared to five minutes ago_ ,” Scott laughed “ _But no, dude, I meant Derek Hale. Cora’s older brother who moved to Korea._ ”

The longtime friends blinked and stared at each other.

“Scott… did you _never make the connection until right now_?” Stiles asked, voice low and quavering in an effort to keep from shaking his laptop in frustration.

“ _You never told me your scary eyebrow dude’s name until today! I didn’t even think about it_!” Scott exclaimed in his own defense. Stiles groaned and dropped his face to his hands.

“How in the world did I manage to find the prodigal Hale on _accident_? This whole time! I know I say I don’t believe in Fate, but come on. I’m slowly becoming a believer.”

Scott suddenly burst into laughter. “ _This the best thing I’ve ever heard. Hundred bucks says you’ll definitely see him again within the week, even if he doesn’t show up today._ ”

“Oh, that’s just great. I’ll get dumped, but at least his perfectly perfect face will probably be shoved in mine every chance it gets. Because I’m Fate’s bitch now,” Stiles whined.

“I think there was a compliment in there somewhere, but face-shoving might be getting ahead of yourself,” rumbled a voice that was too soft to be a _growly-_ growl.

Stiles flailed wildly and slapped his laptop down just as Scott shouted something about ‘ _it’s the murder eyebrows!_ ’

Derek sat across the tiny table from Stiles, and set two cardboard cups down. Said-murderbrows were high and those pretty _ridiculously_ colored eyes met Stiles’ coolly. At least, he seemed cool and collected. Until Stiles noticed Derek pick up one of the cups and turn it in his hands and set it back down again a second later. The little break in certainty, the betrayal of some kind of nerves, soothed Stiles’ enough to meet Derek’s gaze.

“Is everyone going to know me by my eyebrows, or am I going to be able to use my own name?”

“You– You really showed up,” Stiles croaked in shock. There was a slight uptick of Derek’s mouth and something light and warm bloomed in Stiles’ chest.

“I could go. But I’m taking your coffee with me.”

“What? No! Too late now,” Stiles exclaimed, snatching the cup before Derek could put his hand to it, holding it close to his chest protectively. “No take-backs.”

“Are we kindergartners now?”

“Well you _would_ know,” Stiles shot back, taking a tentative sip as Derek’s head ducked and a quiet chuckle escaped him. Stiles’ eyes widened as the plain black coffee hit his tongue with only the faintest hint of sugar. “How did you know how I take my coffee?”

Derek shrugged. “You reek of it.” Stiles raised his eyebrows (one day he’d learn how to do the thing with just one judgey eyebrow like Derek did. One day) incredulously. Derek glanced towards the Bridge across the bay and Stiles was delighted to see a ruddy flush on Derek’s ears. “I might’ve asked Isaac to message Daniel.”

“It’s Danny. And thanks. That’s… that’s kinda awesome.”

“The least I could do was make the first date worthwhile,” Derek grumbled. Stiles grinned widely at the omission, just to frown a second later.

“You make it sound like you don’t expect a second,” Stiles pointed out slowly. The warm fuzzy feeling was suddenly replaced with feeling too tight and constricted. “No one likes to feel like someone’s waste of time, Der-bear,” Stiles said as lightly as possible.

There was a strange look his way before Derek shook his head. “It’s not you. I… I’m giving it a chance, Stiles. That doesn’t mean I think it’ll go much farther.”

“But you came anyway,” Stiles reiterated. Derek shrugged. “Right. So, I’m just gonna have to spend the rest of the date convincing you this chance is worth it. I can do that.”

Even with the– frankly adorable– head duck, Derek couldn’t quite hide that shy smile on his face. Stiles didn’t bother hiding his.

Yeah, he was gonna convince the shit out of him. Stiles was not willing to give up making that smile appear on Derek’s face.

* * *

 

Christmas was fast approaching and the temperature had dropped so low Derek’s breath puffed out of him in a frosty cloud that late Friday afternoon. His footsteps echoed in the stone-walled and -floored station as he jogged his way up the stairs. His Kakao was chiming in his pocket, but he knew exactly who it was. Probably two “who”s actually. He rolled his eyes, walking onto the platform and seeing the man curled up on the bench, tapping away on his phone, earbud wires caught between his teeth. The beanie was back, and a pair of black-framed glasses he never bothered with except during a fast-approaching deadline. He was muttering under his breath, and Derek didn’t bother listening in. He settled down on the bench at Stiles’ back and just watched silently as he sent off several messages to someone on Skype.

He spun around and warm brown eyes met Derek’s lighter greenish-hazel. Even though he was frowning, his mouth was twitching and his gaze was more fond than irritated.

“Lemme guess, Mr. Kindergarten Teacher needed a nap?”

Derek reached out a cupped the back of Stiles’ neck, squeezing lightly. Stiles wasn’t a ‘wolf, but he responded to touch the same way; with all the tension leaving him and an automatic lean in Derek’s direction. With Stiles’ friends entering his little group, and all of them earnestly picking up Erica’s affectation and calling him Alpha, it was getting harder to deny just how _Pack_ they’d all felt. How much Derek filled in that empty space where an Alpha should be and how they all encouraged it, even headstrong and mouthy Stiles. Speaking of Alphas…

“No, I was talking to Laura. When were you going to mention that _your_ Scott, the one coming out for Christmas, was the same one working for _my sister’s_ emissary?”

Stiles just cackled unrepentantly. “But it’s so funny when _you_ find out. You finding out I knew the entire time you were a ‘wolf was probably the funniest thing I’d ever seen.”

Derek rolled his eyes even as his ears heated. He’d worked himself up for weeks, ready to tell Stiles and knowing the shoe would finally drop. Only for Stiles shrug, admit he’s an emissary-in-training, and ask if Derek wanted NeNeChicken or Mr. Pizza for dinner. (They of course ordered NeNe, Derek doubted he would ever get over how plastic-y the cheese tasted on pizza here.) That ozone scent and those Druidic-like tattoos make sense after that fairly anticlimactic conversation. He vowed never to tell Laura he hadn’t figured it out himself.

The shoe still hadn’t dropped. But it hadn’t even been a month yet, so there was time yet. Stiles’ eyes narrowed on Derek’s face.

“You’re doing it again, aren’t you?”

Derek’s hand dropped away as he moved to stand. Stiles’ hand clamped down on Derek’s wrist, and he twisted around onto his knees to lean just a little over Derek.

“You made a bad choice once, Derek. Stop thinking all your choices are bad. I’m a _great_ fucking choice,” Stiles told him firmly.

The fierce determination in Stiles’ eyes, the surety in his voice, had Derek leaning a little too heavily against the bench. His eyebrows lifted, his expression softer than he meant to show, mouth quivering slightly as he smirked with a faux sort of smugness. “You sound a bit full of yourself.”

Stiles sputtered, that moment of _more than_ himself faded away quickly to the clumsy dorky geek he was 98% of the time.

“Well, that’s just rude, you asshole.”

“If the shoe fits.” Derek laughed and hooked a finger in the collar of Stiles’ hoodie to drag him down.

“I’ll give you a shoe. Now be indecent and kiss me before people show up,” Stiles ordered briskly, burying his hands in Derek’s thick hair, grown long enough to curl behind his ears. Stiles kept calling it his _Prince-hair_. Because he was ridiculous.

He was ridiculous when he eagerly pressed into the kiss, tongue swiping over Derek’s bottom lip and making that eager little sound he always made at Derek’s easy response. When his palms dragged over Derek’s scruff and cupped Derek’s face like they were in some sort of romance movie. When his mouth and tongue tasted like thunderstorms and coffee.

It was definitely because of Stiles’ ridiculousness that they missed the train and had to deal with Erica’s smirks and teasing between Lydia’s annoyed scowls when they finally made it to Busan.


End file.
